


Winter Wonderland

by beetle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: "Snowflakes on Robert's eyelashes, red-cheeked and shivering. Eames pulls him close to warm him up and laughs at his inability to handle the winter weather, but just light teasing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not me, guv'nor!

"This . . . is Hell."  
  
"No, it's not, you big girl." Eames chuckles and wraps his arm around Robert's waist as they gaze up at the huge Christmas Tree. In this crowd, in Rockefeller Center, no one either notices or cares about the PDAs of two men. It's one of many things Eames loves about New York City. One of the other things he loves is that it's where he  _officially_  met Robert Fischer.  
  
"You're right. Hell would be  _warm_." Robert huffs, and Eames looks at him fondly and catches Robert's nose wrinkling as if he's about to--  
  
"CHOO!" Robert barely gets his gloved hand over his mouth and nose in time, and Eames laughs again. Robert turns to face him, red-cheeked and red-nosed. There are snowflakes in his hair and on his eyelashes, and he's shivering.  
  
"What's so funny, Mr. Eames?"  
  
"You are, darling . . . you look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!"  
  
"Charming," Robert deadpans, sniffling and rolling his eyes. He shivers again, a quick, delicate frisson that Eames's body feels and imitates. "The bold words of a man who never wants to have sex with me again."  
  
"Oh, don't be like that, petal," Eames murmurs, pulling Robert close, till they're flush against each other: a crowd of two in a crowd of hundreds. "You actually look rather adorable like this."  
  
Robert's perfect, snow-frosted brows quirk slowly upward toward his perfect, snow-frosted hair. "You find the early stages of pneumonia adorable? You sick bastard."  
  
"Oh, Robert." Eames leans in and kisses Robert's red nose and then his pink lips. Robert moans a little into Eames's mouth, then melts into the kiss, following Eames's lead.  
  
And it's still cold out--almost unbearably so, even in the press of the crowd, but the kiss is warm, as are the arms winding around Eames's neck.  
  
Lost in each other as they are, neither notice when the crowd cheers the event they've all gathered here to see: the lighting of the Christmas Tree. In fact, they don't notice much of anything until the crowd shifts in preparation of dispersing.  
  
"Oh, look," Robert breathes wonderingly when the kiss reluctantly ends. He's looking up at the tree, his face lit by red, green, and yellow light. He looks like a stained-glass saint, reverent and solemn. "The tree is lit. And you were right . . . it  _is_  beautiful."  
  
"Yes, it certainly is," Eames says lowly, and Robert looks at him, smiling. His cheeks and nose are still flushed, but the snowflakes in his brows and lashes have melted.  
  
"Mr. Eames, you're as transparent as you are handsome."  
  
"And you're as sweet as you are lovely."  
  
That flush deepens. "Jack, you're impossible."  
  
"Oh, I think you'll find that I'm  _very_  possible, darling." Eames kisses Robert again, briefly. "Now, what say we go back to the hotel and invent new ways to take the chill off?"  
  
Robert shivers again, but for a different reason than before. His blue eyes are hot and intent on Eames's. "It's like you're reading my mind."  
  
"Mmhmm. So let's run, run, Rudolph--ow!" Eames exclaims when Robert whaps the back of his neck. "Domestic violence!"  
  
"I'll beat you like a red-headed stepchild if you call me Rudolph again," Robert agrees, letting go of Eames and turning to follow the crowd. Eames is immediately on his heels, one arm around his waist, the other linked tightly with Robert's.  
  
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Fischer," he murmurs into Robert's hair, and Robert glances over his shoulder, smiling gently and warmly, his eyes aglow with more than reflected tree-light.  
  
"You, too, Mr. Eames. You, too."  
  



End file.
